Falling
by artemisgirl
Summary: Pushed through the Veil, Hermione falls... and falls... and falls. There are people she can't remember here, who seem to know her, and she falls with them through the nothing. Here, in the Void... can she ever truly land?


**Falling**

.

" _What a funny watch!" she remarked. "It tells the day of the month, and doesn't tell what o'clock it is!"_

" _Why should it?" muttered the Hatter. "Does your watch tell you what year it is?"_

" _Of course not," Alice replied very readily: "but that's because it stays the same year for such a long time together."_

" _Which is just the case with mine," said the Hatter._

 _Alice felt dreadfully puzzled. The Hatter's remark seemed to have no sort of meaning in it, and yet it was certainly English. "I don't quite understand you," she said, as politely as she could._

" _The Dormouse is asleep again," said the Hatter, and he poured a little hot tea upon its nose._

 _._

 _._

 _._

* * *

Hermione screams.

She's falling, falling, and it feels like she's been falling forever, but it's only been a moment – she can still see that cow Umbridge smirking at her, and Hermione takes a level of comfort from knowing that even if this is the end of her, at least the head Unspeakable knows that it was Umbridge who pushed her and that she'll be punished.

Hermione is falling, falling, falling...

Then nothing.

.

.

.

.

.

There is grey.

A grey fog billows and fills the world as far as she can see.

She can see nothing in the grey fog. There are no people, there are no landmarks, there is no anything. There is only nothing, and the grey fog is everything.

She closes her eyes and opens them again to see if it has changed. She feels slightly different, but it lasts a scant second before there is only nothing.

There is nothing, and it is grey.

.

.

.

.

.

There is a clock.

The clock is very large and very old looking, but it looks more like a grossly oversized pocket watch than a wall clock or grandfather clock.

Only, the clock is not moving. Someone forgot to wind it, Hermione thinks.

Hermione makes her way over to the top of the clock, where the little nub that winds it is, but as she reaches out to wind it, something in the grey moves, and she's floating away again.

.

.

.

.

.

Hermione is falling.

At least, she thinks she is falling. She knows she was falling at first when she got here, and she knows she didn't land and didn't hit anything, so she supposes she must _still_ be falling. She will continue to fall until acted upon by an outside force.

Hermione wonders if the grey fog is an outside force that causes everyone to float and move as if through jelly. The thought comforts her, until she blinks and remembers that in free fall, falling often feels like floating.

She's falling, falling, falling...

Hermione screams.

.

.

.

.

.

Hermione thinks as she falls.

She thinks about all the things she could be doing. She could be researching Dementors – she's fairly sure that they're caused by magical acts of hatred that tear a hole into the fabric of reality. She could be interviewing Winky; she thinks if she asks the right questions, she might be able to learn the secret behind the blood magic that binds an elf to a family. She could be with her friends, even, talking and laughing and living a happy, normal life without Dark Lords or Death Eaters or doom.

She does not think about what once was. Her memories are gone to her, but she does not notice the gap. She does not think about what will be. Her future is a mystery that she does not contemplate, and she does not realize her lapse.

There is only now – what is, what is not, and what might be.

And in the now, Hermione falls.

.

.

.

.

.

There is a clock.

The clock is very large and very old looking. It is silver, and it looks like a pocket watch, only much, much bigger.

Only, the clock is not moving. Neither the second hand nor the minute hand moves.

Someone forgot to wind the clock, Hermione thinks. That must be why it doesn't move.

Hermione wonders what type of person would be responsible for winding such a clock. She wonders if she should wind it, but the clock is already moving away, and then it is gone.

.

.

.

.

.

Hermione falls in the fog.

There is nothing but grey.

And Hermione falls.

.

.

.

.

.

There is a guy.

Hermione uses the word "guy" because he seems too old to be called a boy but too young to be properly called a man. But there is a guy; she can see him, right here and now.

He has black hair and blue eyes. He is wearing black robes that are billowing out around him in the zero gravity free-fall nothingness of falling (the free-fall nothingness that Hermione doesn't want to think about lest she start screaming again). He looks to be about her age.

Hermione floats over to him.

The guy looks lost, and his eyes meet hers with terror.

He starts screaming.

Hermione screams too.

.

.

.

.

.

There is a clock.

Hermione feels a vague sense of recognition at having seen this clock before, but the moment's gone, she can't recall.

The clock is like a giant oversized pocket watch, and doesn't look like the proper sort of clock to be so big at all. And someone's forgotten to wind it, Hermione thinks – the clock isn't working right.

In fact, it's working _wrong_.

The clock is ticking _backwards_ , instead of forwards, marking off second by second in a counter-clockwise manner.

The guy falling with her groans.

"This is the hundred and fifty-seventh time I have seen that clock."

Hermione is surprised.

"How do you know?" she asks.

The guy gives her a strange look.

"I remember," he tells her.

Hermione feels sad.

"I can't remember," she tells him. "I can't remember anything. There's only now."

The guy smiles grimly.

"All I can _do_ is remember," he says. "I can even remember being you."

.

.

.

.

.

Hermione is falling.

Her friend is falling too.

Hermione is screaming. It's hard to stop screaming when falling through nothingness to your doom.

Her friend is laughing maniacally. His laugh sounds insane, and part of Hermione wonders if he's come mentally unhinged from the grey fog. She thinks he probably has, and that he should probably go see a mind healer.

She wonders when he could go see a mind healer when there's only falling into nothing and no one else around.

She screams.

He laughs.

They fall.

.

.

.

.

.

"Was it hard, destroying the Horcruxes?" he asks her. "I always wanted to destroy one."

Hermione looks at him, but his eyes are closed.

"I destroyed a Horcrux?" Hermione asks.

"You did," he tells her. "You and your friends destroyed them all, Hermione."

Hermione is surprised.

"Did I tell you my name?" she asks.

"You didn't need to," he tells her. "When I looked at you, I _was_ you, in a way – I relive every detail your past and remember it. I remember every time someone called for you. I remember you writing your name at the top of every homework assignment. I even remember your parents smiling and naming you in the hospital after you were born."

Hermione wonders where her parents are. She must have had some at some point, she knows, but now, she can't remember them.

"I can't remember anything," she tells him. "I know I'm Hermione, but that's all."

"You remember nothing but your name?" he asks, frowning. "Nothing?"

"I remember 'Hermione'," she says. "And I remember falling."

They lapse into silence. Hermione does not ask his name, and he does not give it.

They fall.

.

.

.

.

.

A hand is clapped over her eyes, and Hermione makes a small noise in surprise.

"See?" demands her friend. "Isn't it better now?"

"I don't understand," she says. "I can't see anything now."

"Yes, but can't you _think_ now?" he asks. "Can't you remember?"

Suddenly, Hermione does.

She remembers that she was being recruited by the Unspeakables. They'd interviewed her, and they'd seemed impressed. Their boss was writing up a formal job offer, and she was being given a tour of the area while she waited.

She'd been looking at the veil, examining the runework around it, when Umbridge appeared and pushed her in.

Umbridge's eyes had been red and frantic, and she looked crazed, Hermione remembers. She thinks she remembers the Unspeakable she was with yelling and tackling Umbridge, but by that time, she'd been screaming and falling, so it's hard to completely recall.

"I was pushed," Hermione says, and she's surprised to hear the vehemence in her own voice. "That cow Umbridge pushed me."

"I was pushed too," her friend tells her. "I'd found something powerful and taken it and hidden it away. The person who's it was found out, and he pushed me into an archway of power he called up as punishment."

"An archway of power?" Hermione wonders. "I was pushed in the Ministry."

"Maybe there's more than one of them," he suggests.

Hermione shivers. More than one gateway to this hell of nothingness is not a good thought.

.

.

.

.

.

"Why does closing my eyes help?" she asks him, her eyes closed. "Why did you clap your hands over my eyes?"

"I think we're seeing time differently," he tells her. "When I look at you, I see you, but I can see _all_ of you, all the yous there ever were."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asks.

"I screamed, when I saw you," he tells her. "I screamed because I could see the final battle through your eyes, all the Death Eaters swarming the castle, and then there was a dragon in a vault under the ground and Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries and they were all swarming and vivid and I screamed."

Hermione is astonished.

"How do you do that?" she says. "That's not normal. That's – I think it's called post-cognition, when you know about events after they've happened that you shouldn't rightly know about. That's a psychic phenomenon. It's very rare."

He laughs, but it is not a happy laugh.

"I have no idea," he tells her. "It only began after I started falling."

Hermione doesn't like remembering she is falling. Panic grips her, and she opens her eyes.

There is no memory of falling now, just the grey nothingness and her handsome friend with her.

She smiles at him, but his eyes are closed.

"You opened your eyes again, didn't you?" he asks.

His voice is deep and rich and handsome. Hermione likes it.

"Yes," she says. "So?"

He sighs.

.

.

.

.

.

"So all you see is the past," Hermione says, thinking, her eyes closed. "When you see me, you can see everything about me that I've ever done."

"Right," her friend tells her.

"But you can't see me right now?" she asks.

"Right," he confirms. "I think this falling doesn't count as time, really. It feels more like we're _outside_ of time."

"How can one be outside of time?" Hermione asks. "Time proceeds in a unidirectional linear fashion. There isn't a place where time is _not_."

"There is," her friend tells her grimly. "Here."

Hermione considers this.

"It would help explain all the nothingness," she admits. "As well as the odd symbolism of the clocks."

"You've seen a clock too?" he asks. "Why didn't you say so?"

"I couldn't remember," Hermione objects. "I can only remember things well when I close my eyes."

"Well, what was it doing?"

Hermione strains to remember.

"It did... nothing," she recalls. "It didn't move. It was as if it was broken, like someone had forgotten to wind it."

"Maybe we'll see it again," he says with a sigh. "Then I can look at it too."

Hermione is struck with terror.

"But then... if I open my eyes, I'll forget again," she says. "I'll forget why I need to look at the clock. I'll forget everything again. I won't remember."

His hand finds hers and squeezes. His hand is warm in hers, and the warmth reassures her.

"Don't worry," he tells her. "I'll remember."

Hermione opens her eyes.

.

.

.

.

.

There is a clock.

The clock is very large and very old looking, but it looks more like a grossly oversized pocket watch than a wall clock or grandfather clock.

Only, the clock is not moving. Someone forgot to wind it, Hermione thinks.

"You're right," her friend says. "It's not moving at all."

"It's broken," Hermione tells him. "Someone forgot to wind it."

"Close your eyes," he urges her.

Her eyes shut.

"The clock is confirmation," he tells her. "It's as I thought – you can only see the present, the now. You can't see the past or future."

His words make sense, now that her eyes are closed.

"People can't normally see the past or future," she argues. "That's not an accurate description for what's happened to me."

"That's a fair point," he acknowledges. "How would you describe it?"

Hermione thinks.

"It's as if I'm blind," she tells him. "I'm blind to the past and the future when my eyes are open. It's as if they don't exist."

"That's a good description," he says. "When my eyes are open, all there is is the past. The present and future are gone."

"What do we do, then?" Hermione asks. Her tone is frightened, and part of her is disgusted with herself for being afraid.

"We'll stay together." His voice is strong, and Hermione feels him pulling on her hand, and he draws her into his arms. His arms are warm around her, and Hermione feels safe. "You'll see the present, and I'll consider the past."

While part of her is disgusted with her obvious show of fear, the other part of her relishes the reassurance he provides, and Hermione snuggles into his embrace.

.

.

.

.

.

Hermione's eyes are closed.

She is talking with her friend. He is telling her what he knows about the House Elves, and she in turn tells him what she's learned about the binding magic that holds them to a Pureblood clan.

They talk about magic, they talk about Muggles, they talk about potions, they talk about power. They talk about life, they talk about love, they talk about anything and nothing and everything in between.

They fall.

But now, they fall together.

.

.

.

.

.

Hermione's eyes are open.

She is in the arms of her friend; only her heart tells her that this is not just a friend, that this man is more than a friend to her.

His eyes are closed, but he smiles.

"I can feel your wonderment," he tells her. "What is it?"

"I feel like I've known you forever," she tells him.

He laughs.

"You very well might have," he says. "Who knows how long we've been falling in each other's arms, passing clock after clock after clock?"

She considers this.

"Forever doesn't feel so bad with you," she tells him. "I feel like... forever with you is something I want."

He laughs again.

"Close your eyes, love," he urges her. "You'll remember what all you want."

She closes her eyes.

Memories flood her mind – who she is and why she is there – and a moment later embarrassment catches up.

"I- I didn't-" she stammers.

He laughs.

"I can feel the flush on your face," he teases. "Are you so embarrassed, admitting you want to spend forever with me?"

"It's not like I have much of a choice," she retorts, her face hot. "It's either forever with you or forever alone in this void. Can you blame me for wanting to stay with you?"

She can sense him smirk.

"No," he says, and his tone is smiling. He pulls her closer, holding her near. "I can't blame you one bit."

.

.

.

.

.

It is later. Hermione's eyes are closed.

"What about the future?" she asks. "How will we see that?"

"Together, with our eyes closed," he answers.

Hermione reflects on this.

"I don't suppose it matters, anyway," he tells her. "There's no future here but more clocks and nothingness."

She sighs.

"I suppose not."

.

.

.

.

.

Hermione's eyes are open.

She is in the arms of a man. He has black hair and strong, warm arms, and Hermione feels warm in his arms.

"Your eyes are open," he tells her, amusement in his tone. "I can always tell when you open your eyes."

Hermione doesn't understand why her eyes being open matters, but she doesn't care, either. She's preoccupied by the man who is holding her.

Slowly, she traces the lines of his face with her hands, her palm cupping his cheek. His face is smooth, the skin soft against her hand, and she looks at him with wonderment.

"What are you doing?" he asks her. His tone is quizzical, but he does not open his eyes.

"I feel like I'm falling," she tells him, and he laughs.

"You are falling," he tells her. "We've been falling for ages."

" _No_ ," Hermione tells him. "This is a different falling. I can tell."

"Is it?" His voice is teasing. "How?"

He is handsome, Hermione thinks. She looks at the picture his black hair and pale skin make against the grey, and she strokes his cheek before she answers.

"I feel like I'm falling for you."

She can feel him stiffen against her, but Hermione is unafraid.

"Close your eyes," he urges her. "Close your eyes and tell me that again."

"No," Hermione says.

"Please," he pleads.

"No. I like looking at you," Hermione tells him. "Why should I?"

"It would mean a lot to me," he tells her, and his voice is uneven. "Please, Hermione."

Something in his voice makes her waver.

"If I do, will you tell me if you feel like you're falling too?" she asks.

He laughs, only it's not a funny laugh, it's a laugh of desperation and self-denial.

"I've already fallen, Hermione," he tells her. "I've long since fallen in love with you."

His words make her heart skip a beat, and she laughs and holds him closer, feeling happiness flood her, making her nearly giddy.

"Kiss me?" she asks him.

He sighs.

"Close your eyes."

"And then you'll kiss me?"

"If you still want me to."

Hermione closes her eyes.

There is a long moment as she regains herself, and she can feel him tense in her arms.

His lips are soft against hers, and the noise he makes as he reacts to her kiss, a desperate groan of heat and want and need and love sends heat racing through her veins as he pulls her closer, kissing her deeper, and then though her eyes are closed, her thoughts are gone once more.

.

.

.

.

.

Hermione's eyes are closed.

His eyes are closed, too.

Her clothes are tied around her ankles. His robes, too, are tied to his legs to insure they don't fall away.

His body is smooth and firm under her hands. He gasps when she touches him in some places, while other places elicit a breathless moan. He shudders when she cups him, and there's a sharp intake of breath when she guides his hand to her center's wetness.

His fingers are magic against her, and she cries out, her moans gone in the void around them.

Her eyes are closed. She cannot see the grey fog around them, nor the nothingness there always is. There is only him, him touching her, him inside her, and there is nothing else in the world.

Her eyes are closed, as are his.

In a world all their own, they make love as they fall.

.

.

.

.

.

Hermione's eyes are closed. Her clothes are on, as are his, and she is relaxing in his embrace, enjoying the post-coital afterglow.

His breathing is smooth and even, almost as if he is asleep, but there is no sleeping here. His arms around her hold her just a little bit tighter than they used to, and his smile is just a little wider than it was before.

She can feel that he loves her.

He can feel that she loves him, too.

Now, the future doesn't seem to matter quite so much anymore.

.

.

.

.

.

Her eyes are closed, and a thought occurs to her.

"Have you ever seen another clock?" she asks him. "A clock other than ours?"

She can feel his brow wrinkle in thought.

"I'm not sure," he says. "I might have. Why?"

"I think there's another one," Hermione tells him. "There must be. There has to be three."

"Why?" he asks.

"There are three parts to time," she explains. "The past, the present, and the future. If you can see the past, and I can see the present, someone else must be here somewhere – someone who can see the future."

"You think we need to find someone else?" he asks.

"I think we need to find the third clock," she tells him.

He sighs. "Go ahead."

Hermione opens her eyes.

.

.

.

.

.

"What do you see?"

Hermione looks around. "There is nothing."

He sighs.

They fall.

.

.

.

.

.

"There's a clock."

"What is it doing?"

Hermione cranes her neck.

"It's not doing anything. It's not moving."

He sighs against her. "Okay."

Hermione kisses his forehead. She doesn't know why he sighs, but she knows she wants to soothe his frustration and despair.

He smiles at her kiss, and Hermione's heart skips a beat.

"You're so handsome when you smile," she tells him, and he laughs.

.

.

.

.

.

"There's a clock!"

"What's it doing?"

Hermione looks.

"It's going backwards," she says in wonderment. "I think it's broken."

"It's my clock," he tells her. "Look for another."

Obedient, Hermione looks.

.

.

.

.

.

There is nothing. Hermione tells him so, but he urges her to keep her eyes open and keep looking. Hermione wants to know why he can't look, and he tells her that he'd be lost in her past, but that doesn't make any sense to Hermione, not really. His tone is pleading, though, and she can feel that she loves him, so she does as he asks and looks.

There are lots of clocks. Most do nothing. Some tick backwards.

There is lots more grey fog and nothing than there are clocks.

They fall.

.

.

.

.

.

Hermione squints into the fog. She nudges the man in her arms, who is dozing lightly.

He shifts against her, sleepy. "Hmm?"

"I think..." she peers into the fog again. "I think I see a clock."

"What's it doing?" he asks her.

"Nothing special, really," she tells him. "It's just ticking like normal."

He stiffens in her arms.

"The hand is moving forward?"

She blinks, peering further into the fog.

"Yes."

.

.

.

.

.

"We need to get over there," he tells her, and he angles their bodies in such a way to move toward the clock. "We can breathe, so there must be air here, so there must be some sort of air resistance that will let us move over there."

Hermione angles her body as he directs her. She keeps her eyes open, looking for clocks.

.

.

.

.

.

There is another clock, one that ticks forward, and then quite suddenly, there is a man.

Hermione gasps.

The man looks crazed – his hair is long, shaggy, and matted to his head. He is very thin, and his robes have holes in them from spellfire.

His eyes are closed, and he is singing to himself quietly.

Hermione wonders how he can remember a song.

"Hello?" she calls out to him. "Hello?"

The man turns his head in her direction, looking confused.

"Hello?" he calls back. "Is someone there?"

"We're here," she yells to him. "I'm Hermione. We're here too."

A look of astonishment crosses his face.

"Merlin," he says. "Is that Hermione Granger?"

Hermione bites her lip.

"I'm not sure," she admits. "I know I'm Hermione, though."

The strange man laughs.

"Keep talking to me, doll," he says. "I'll come over and join you."

Slowly, as they fall through nothing, the two manage to join up with the other one.

Together as three, they fall.

.

.

.

.

.

"I can't believe you're here!" Hermione exclaims. Her eyes are closed once more, and she remembers she knows this man. "I mean, I should have suspected it, at least – I saw you fall through the veil myself!"

Sirius laughs. "This is a strange place, Hermione. Don't hold it against yourself."

"I can't believe that the last person we need is my beloved brother," the other man grumbles, but Hermione can tell he's actually glad to hear Sirius' voice. "You _can_ see the future, right?"

"Right." Sirius' voice is grim. "There was someone else here, before. He could see the past, and we joined up to try to get out."

"Why didn't it work?" Hermione asks.

"There was no one around to see the present," Sirius tells her. "That's the hardest bit, I think. It was depressing, though – as soon as I met him, I knew he'd never get out of here. I could see it in an instant when my eyes met his."

"Have you looked at us, yet?" Hermione asks him.

"I'll admit, I'm scared to try," Sirius tells her. "What if we're doomed to stay here forever?"

Hermione's arms tighten around the man in her arms. "We'll still have each other."

Sirius laughs, but it's a laugh of surprised delight. "You're in love with my brother," he says. "When did that happen, Hermione?"

Hermione pauses to think.

"Since forever," she tells him.

"For quite a while," he tells Sirius, and Hermione can hear the affection in his voice. "It's funny, though. She never even asked for my name."

"I knew I would forget it as soon as I opened my eyes," Hermione tells him. "It didn't seem right to forget the name of the man I loved, so I didn't want to know."

The man in her arms laughs.

"I know you might forget," he tells her, nudging her nose with his. "But that's why I'm here. I'll help you remember."

Hermione's breath catches.

She opens her eyes.

"What's your name?" she asks.

For the first time in a long time, his eyes open.

A stormy blue holds hers.

"Regulus," he tells her.

"I love you, Regulus," she tells him, and she means it with her whole heart.

Next to them, the other man makes a barfing sound, and the three of them laugh and laugh.

.

.

.

.

.

"Do it," Hermione tells him. "Open your eyes, Sirius."

"We'll never know otherwise," Regulus urges him. "Tell us what you see."

"But what if there's no hope?" Sirius despairs.

"We won't know unless you try," Hermione says practically. "What you see might help us figure out how to escape."

Hermione can sense that Sirius is wavering.

"Please?" she asks. "If it will help, we'll open our eyes too."

Sirius sighs. "Okay."

Hermione opens her eyes.

There is nothingness all around them. There is only the three of them, falling through grey fog.

Regulus' eyes are open, staring at his brother, and Hermione can feel him tense. She wonders if he feels like screaming, and she rubs her hands over his back to help hm feel better. She wants him to feel okay.

Sirius' eyes are open, only his are staring at her.

Eventually, Regulus pulls himself together.

"Close your eyes," he urges them. "Tell me what you saw."

Hermione closes her eyes.

"I didn't know you went to Azkaban," Regulus says to his brother. "That was... that was awful. Unspeakably awful. I'm so sorry."

"It's in the past." Sirius' voice is awkward. "It wasn't your fault, anyway."

There is a pause.

"Hermione..."

Hermione holds her breath. "Yes?"

"You're going to get us out of here," Sirius tells her, and his voice holds a note of triumph. "You're going to be okay and with Regulus and me, and we're all going to be all right so long as we stick together."

Her laugh is one of pure joy, and Regulus' laugh matches hers, and then Sirius is laughing too, and they all hug each other in their joy.

There will be something again, Hermione thinks. She will see something other than nothingness and Regulus and clocks.

She will finally land.

.

.

.

.

"You need to hit the next present clock you see," Sirius tells her. "Aim directly for its face."

"What's a present clock?" Hermione asks, watching into the fog.

"It's a clock where the hands don't move, love," Regulus tells her. "Just keep an eye out, okay?"

She watches off into the nothingness.

There is only fog.

"I don't see why you two can't help me look," she says.

"You're special," Regulus tells her. "It has to be you."

"You have to crash through the barriers of Time and restore us to the present," Sirius says. "Regulus and I will act as protectors, to make sure we don't end up dragged into the past or thrown into the future, but you have to pull us into the present."

Hermione doesn't understand what they are saying.

"I see a clock," she says.

.

.

.

There is a screaming in her ears.

 _Can'twon'tdon'tSTOP-_

She grits her teeth and bears the pain.

 _painpainFEARpainpainpainpainpain_

Agony sets her on fire as reality grinds against her very being, trying to rip her from her body. It's like she's a comet entering the atmosphere, every cell in her body glowing and being burned and ripped away.

She tries to bear it, focusing on her goal.

 _Findadoorwayanydoorwaygetusoutgetusoutgetusout-_

She is dimly aware there is someone with her. Someone is fighting off the fire that slams into her.

 _It's okay, Hermione_ , she hears suddenly. _I've gotten the hang of blocking out the past._

Suddenly, she isn't on fire – she is freezing cold.

Ice consumes her being, and her teeth chatter and the icy blackness of nothingness and empty void of space comes swarming to meet her. The cold is so much worse, so much more terrifying, and Hermione whimpers and longs for the pain of the fire once more.

 _Fuck! Hang on, Hermione-_

There is someone else with her, she realizes, and slowly, they shut out the cold.

 _Okay, I've got it,_ the other person says. _Should be clear, now._

Hermione blinks.

Her mind is clear.

She looks around, trying to remember what she was supposed to do. _Find a doorway,_ she thinks, though she doesn't know why.

She looks for one.

She's falling. She's dragging two people behind her, each one clinging to a hand, but Hermione doesn't look back, only forward.

She's hurtling through a cavern of many colors and shapes. Some of the shapes are people, doing great and terrible things. Some of the shapes are foggy, things that might have been, if other choices had been made. Some of the shapes are recursive, with people wearing sparkling golden necklaces in them, doubles of figures in the pictures they show. Hermione ignores the shapes and colors of the tunnel, looking only for a hole she can slip through. .

She sees a hole, and without hesitation, she takes it, diving down through a void.

"Here we go-!"

There is a shift of _something,_ and they're falling, falling-

There is a loud "oof!" and a tumble and a tangle of limbs as they land on a hard wood floor. Hermione rolls and bruises her hip as she hits the ground, and from Sirius' cursing, she thinks he got hurt too.

Hermione looks up at their doorway.

"'Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi'?" she reads, frowning.

"Close your eyes, love," Regulus urges her, and she does, and then she laughs.

"The Mirror of Erised is an interdimensional doorway to outside of Time?" she asks.

"Why not?" Regulus' voice is amused.

Hermione smiles, before a thought occurs to her.

"We're in Hogwarts," she says. "I saw the desks and the chalkboard. We're inside an old classroom."

"Thank god we're anywhere but that blasted fog," Sirius groans. "What's it matter where we are?"

"Well..." Hermione hesitates, searching for the right words. "There's Time, here. There's an actual present, not just nothingness anymore."

Regulus grasps her meaning immediately. "You wonder what you might see."

Hermione nods, and Regulus finds her hand and squeezes it.

"Go ahead," he tells her. "Look at me."

Hermione opens her eyes.

.

.

.

Once, when Hermione was sixteen, her cousin took her to a concert. Her cousin's friend had bailed at the last minute, Hermione was home for the summer, and her aunt wouldn't let her cousin go alone, so Hermione was drafted into going along.

The concert was mildly enjoyable if a bit too loud. Most of the people were jumping up and down and drinking, and Hermione had felt vaguely uncomfortable throughout most of it, reassuring herself repeatedly by feeling for her invisible wand.

At one point, though, a hush went over the crowd, and the group performed a song.

And it was magic.

It wasn't the sort of magic Hermione learned at Hogwarts, or like House-elf magic, or anything remotely similar. It was a wordless, inexplicable magic that she couldn't explain or define. It was a magic that swept through all of her being as she listened to the music, and as the band had performed, not a thought had entered her mind. It was as if she was part of the music herself, all of her being wrapped up in that one song.

Eventually, the song had ended, and Hermione had blinked several times and settled back into herself as the crowd screamed itself wild. The rest of the songs didn't come close to replicating that sense of magic Hermione had felt, and though she had acted normal enough as the concert came to a close and Hermione went home, the moment had left her feeling haunted as she fell asleep that night.

Seeing Regulus is like that moment, for Hermione.

Only she is not part of the music.

She is part of Regulus, and she can see everything that he is.

Regulus is smart, intelligent and devious and determined. He is scared, terrified of the future and what will come and what they will do. He is resentful toward his brother, and he wonders why Sirius had to be the future one, why _he_ had to be part of anything. He worries that Sirius will charm Hermione into loving _him_ instead, and that he'll be lost by himself. He thinks that they are all going to have a hard time adjusting, knowing they're all effectively blind, but he thinks Hermione might have the best chance of it, if she can see the present.

Regulus hates the Dark Lord, and he took a vicious pleasure in seeing his defeat through Hermione's eyes. Regulus' temper is sharp and hot when it flares, and his fury is not something to be risked. Regulus' anger is even worse; he can turn cold at the turn of a cloak and speak in tones of ice until whatever wrong he perceives has been made against him is rectified.

Hermione sees Regulus. She sees all that he is – his thoughts, his personality, his secrets, his wishes, his desires, his loves. She sees everything that he is right now, and he can hide nothing from her.

Part of her wonders if this is what it is like to be God.

Regulus is wondering if she's still looking at him, if she still needs him to help her remember.

"Close your eyes, love," he bids her aloud.

Blinking, Hermione closes her eyes. It takes her several long moments to regain herself.

"I saw you," she tells him. "I saw everything that you are."

Regulus doesn't quite understand, and Hermione doesn't have the words to accurately explain it, only that wordless sense that she _was_ Regulus, while she looked at him, she was part of the very fibers of his being, but it sounds so silly when she puts it that way, so she says nothing.

Instead, she says, "I love you," and throws her arms around Regulus' neck.

She does love him, she reflects as he kisses her. He's seen everything about her from her past, and she knows everything that he is, but she still loves him desperately, even in the face of his flaws.

Sirius is coughing from next to them, but Hermione ignores him, kissing Regulus again.

.

.

.

Hermione guides Regulus and Sirius through the school. It is hard for her – it's difficult to remember her purpose, to remember why she is walking and where she is going, but Hermione finds she can just manage it, if she's careful – these details are part of her present, after all. Hermione finds her way to the Great Hall, and there is a gasp.

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione blinks twice, and behind the flutter of her eyelids, she remembers.

"Professor McGonagall," she says.

Professor McGonagall hurries down from the dais to her, and Hermione looks carefully at the floor next to her.

"Hermione, what's- is that Sirius Black?" she asks, astonished. " _Hermione,_ no one's heard of you in a month! Where have you been?"

"A month?" Hermione giggles, but it's a frantic, borderline-sane giggle. "It feels like it's been years."

"Hermione! What happened? Just what is going on?"

Hermione looks up at her old teacher, seeing.

Minerva McGonagall is worried. She's worried Hermione has either gone mad or has done very dark magic to come back from the dead, especially if she brought back the dead Black brothers with her. She wonders if she should summon the Aurors, but Hermione doesn't seem to be presenting any immediate danger, and there will be time enough for that later, if Hermione is actually Hermione and hasn't gone mad.

Minerva McGonagall is also 95, partially in love with Madame Rosmerta, and infertile. She holds her sexuality as her closest secret – no one must ever know.

Hermione blinks, closing her eyes for a long moment, before reopening them and looking at the floor in front of her old teacher.

"It's a very, very long story," Hermione tells her. "Why don't you summon the Aurors and the Unspeakables, and I'll tell everyone over tea?"

.

.

.

The Unspeakables are astonished to see Hermione, but ecstatic upon hearing the details of her return. No one has ever returned through the veil, they tell her. Her return with her two friends has generated many new theories about the veil itself and the nature of Time, and the Unspeakables practically vibrate in their seats with energy, eager to examine them all.

The Aurors are more surprised and suspicious, but they grow angry as Hermione relates how she was pushed in. The Aurors demand to know why Umbridge was never arrested, and the Unspeakables object, saying that they reported Hermione's disappearance on all the proper forms.

The head Auror demands they find Umbridge _now_ , and Hermione looks away into the air, into the present itself, and she finds Umbridge.

She's at the Ministry, she tells them, snooping through legal documents in the disguise of Ellie Diederbach.

The Aurors go off to the Ministry in a huff, and Hermione, Regulus, and Sirius go with them, a chain of blind people following the Unspeakables through the halls.

.

.

.

When they find Umbridge, there is an emergency session of the Wizengamot immediately convened. Umbridge is wanted not only for the attempted murder of Hermione Granger, but also for many war crimes as well.

Hermione tells her story to the judges, and Umbridge says her defense, saying that she was only angry, that she didn't know what the veil did. She tells the Wizengamot of being raised with blood prejudice, that she didn't know it was wrong, that she was afraid during the Dark Lord's rein, that she didn't know what else to do.

Her story sickens Hermione as she listens. Next to her, Regulus squeezes her hand, and Sirius pats her shoulder in solidarity.

After Umbridge's plea, the head of the Wizengamot addresses Hermione.

"Do you have anything else to say?"

There is a pause.

There is no discussion, no previous planning no furtive looks. It just happens – as if it was always meant to happen, as if there's nothing more natural in the world: as one, Regulus, Hermione, and Sirius stand, hold hands, and open their eyes.

If seeing the present was staggering before, now it is overwhelming. Hermione can see everything in the existence of Dolores Umbridge's being, and there are threads, now, threads that lead from her past through her present and to her future.

"She tortured witches," Regulus says from next to her, his eyes unseeing. "During the war, she tortured witches for fun in the holding cells."

"She doesn't regret it," Hermione says, looking at Umbridge.

"She hoped to see them die," Sirius says, his eyes foggy. "She wanted to see that moment."

"She thought pushing you through the veil would kill you," Regulus says. "She thought that eliminating you would get rid of most of the pressure to capture her, and she'd be able to get away free."

"She still hates me with a passion," Hermione observes. "She still hates Muggleborns and Muggles with a passion. She is incapable of change."

"Her mother never indoctrinated her into hatred," Regulus says. "The Dark Lord never came calling, demanding her service. She volunteered."

"She has done nothing but spread hate, violence, and evil," Hermione proclaims. "What should be done with her?"

"Azkaban?" Regulus suggests. "Where she sent so many?"

"Azkaban will only fuel the fires of her hatred," Sirius says, looking into the future. "She will see herself as a martyr, and will die feeling justified."

"The Dementors?" Regulus asks. "A soulless existence?"

"If she is kissed, she will vanish never knowing true punishment," Sirius says. "It will simply be the end."

"What of ending her magic?" Hermione asks, looking into Umbridge's fears. "Of making her into a squib, a Muggle?"

Sirius pauses.

"Taking her magic will change her completely," Sirius proclaims. "She will be consumed with self-loathing and denial. She will go begging to a homeless shelter for help, all dignity lost, and from there, she will rebuild a new identity, piece by piece by piece. She will learn who the people she would condemn to genocide are, and she will accept their help and become one of them. She will grow past her hatred, and she will never bother the wizarding world again."

There is a murmur throughout the court room, and Regulus and Sirius close their eyes. Hermione looks at Umbridge, just looking, her eyes unseeing.

"Hermione," Regulus says, and Hermione remembers what she must do.

Hermione steps forward, her eyes on Umbridge, and Umbridge cowers in her seat and screams, lashing out with hateful words and fear, but she cannot escape the bindings on the chair, and she cannot hide behind her fear and hate when Hermione can see everything she is.

Hermione stops in front of Umbridge.

Slowly, her eyes seeing, Hermione reaches out and _into_ Umbridge, reaching past her memories and identity and personality and hate and heart to the place where her magic is kept, and it's the easiest thing in the world for Hermione to pull it out of her like a weed.

The courtroom gasps as Umbridge's magic dissipates into the air in a flutter of blue butterflies and glitter, and Umbridge screams.

"There," Hermione says, and suddenly, she is tired. "It is done."

She makes her way back to her seat, stumbling, but Regulus is there, at her side, murmuring reassurance as she feels her way back to her place on the bench, eyes closed.

It takes a while for her to regain herself, but when she does, the Wizengamot is banishing Umbridge to live in the Muggle world and to have her wand snapped. They are going along with the punishment she and Regulus and Sirius had declared was just, she realizes. They are doing what is best.

Then she wonders what would have happened if they did not. It wasn't as if they could have done much – she'd already taken Umbridge's magic and returned it to the world, and it wasn't as if it was a process that could be reversed.

.

.

.

After the hearing, astonishingly, they are all dismissed. The Wizengamot wants to talk to the Unspeakables about what happened, but they have not decided to arrest her and Regulus and Sirius for acting when it was not their place, as Hermione fears they might. Regulus, Sirius, and Hermione are all allowed to go home.

Hermione doesn't _have_ a home, but that's not a problem – Regulus immediately leads her to 12 Grimmauld Place, taking her up to his bedroom with eerie familiarity, despite the fact that Hermione knows his eyes must be closed. Sirius goes with them, but takes his own bedroom down the hall, and then Hermione and Regulus are alone.

Without words, they embrace. There's a rustle of clothes and a tumbling of bodies, and they make love on the dusty bed, slowly, tenderly, their eyes closed. Afterward, they talk quietly, sharing secrets that they saw.

"Kingsley wanted to ask you out before you disappeared," Regulus tells her.

"Amelia Bones is terrified of public speaking," Hermione tells him.

"The head Unspeakable used to shove rats into the veil to see what would happen to them."

"Madame Valoor was naked under her robes."

They talk long into the night, reassuring themselves of who they are. Hermione is surprised to hear that Regulus feels insecure.

"You're the only one of us that can see normally at all," he tells her. "Sirius and I both get lost in time every time we open our eyes. What use am I to you?"

"You help me remember," Hermione tells him, kissing him. "I might see, but it means nothing if I don't know what I'm seeing. You give me a now that's worth living in and a future worth living for."

He kisses her again, hands cupping her cheeks, and then he kisses her hard, fiercely, and she cries out as he fucks her into the mattress, laying his claim over every inch of her body, making sure she knows she's his.

.

.

.

Over time, things change.

Regulus and Sirius learn to walk around with their eyes open. It's difficult for them, but it can be done – they just have to focus on exactly one second in the past or exactly one second in the future, respectively, and they can muddle their way about, so long as they are careful not to look anyone in the eye. They manage better together, holding hands as they sneak out to Diagon Alley to get her Christmas gifts, and Hermione wonders if they curse the people who must make comments.

Hermione's friends come to see her, and they are astonished when Hermione refuses to open her eyes when they visit. Ron in particular is hurt – he'd thought that they'd start dating again.

It is difficult for Hermione to explain herself. It is not that she doesn't love then, she tells them, but that she loves them too much to violate their privacy like that. There's no need for her to know all their deepest secrets, all their darkest desires, all their sins, all their hate, all their gripes with her, and she'd rather look at photographs to see how they've all changed than strain their friendship and do that to them.

She does concede to look at Ginny's belly, though, and she tells a happy Harry and Ginny that she's having a boy.

The Unspeakables are still researching the veil and Time, having conducted their examinations on her and the Black brothers, but Hermione knows she cannot very well work for the Department of Mysteries now. Instead, she has heard rumors of the Department of Justice asking her, Regulus, and Sirius to become the new system of law. The Wizengamot was impressed with their display in the courtroom, and perfectly-considered justice is a strong lure for them.

Sirius is unstable, but slowly becoming more stable as time goes on. When she first looked at him once back in the present, all the scarring over his psyche had horrified her. Losing track of his other friend beyond the veil had driven Sirius nearly mad, and Hermione knows he still blames himself for his friend never getting out. Sirius is slowly getting better, though – he's working on having healthy relationships with people, starting with Harry, who he goes out for drinks with every Thursday. The Muggle bar they frequent is impressed with Sirius' ability to call the correct winner of the sports games, and Hermione can see that Sirius enjoys the attention.

Regulus, in contrast, is as stable and firm as a rock. Whenever she looks at him, she can see the burning flame of his love for her, his determination to be worthy of her, his desire for her body when he looks at her out of the corners of his eyes. He helps her remember what she is doing when she forgets, and he helps her remember what she wants out of life (to be happy, to make a difference, to learn). Hermione and Regulus work on a spell together, a spell to help them see without using their eyes, and though they haven't gotten it to work quite yet, Sirius keeps dropping hints that they will soon. Though Hermione forgets many things, she has managed to always remember one thing:

Regulus' name.

She knows that Regulus would forgive her if she did forget, but she can see his joy when she remembers each time and calls for him, and she can feel the burning of his love for her when she remembers who he is to her.

Hermione thinks about things changing as she looks out the window, watching snow fall. Her life has changed irrevocably, but somehow, it doesn't feel quite like change. She feels like it's always been this way, and the thought that her life might change again in the future doesn't bother her – all that matters is now.

She hears the door open, and she turns, excited.

"Regulus?"

"Don't look!" he tells her, and she closes her eyes, amused. "You're going to have to keep your eyes closed for a while, love. I don't want you to ruin the surprise."

"Are we talking minutes or hours?" she asks.

"Er- maybe days."

Hermione laughs.

"Is this about the ring in your pocket?" she asks.

Regulus swears colorfully, and Hermione takes that as confirmation enough to open her eyes and look at him fondly.

"You weren't supposed to know," he grumbles. "I had this magnificent proposal planned out under the fairy lights at Christmas."

"I think I knew you wanted to marry me the moment you did," she tells him, smiling. "I could see it in you when we went to Hogsmeade together."

An expression of wonder crosses his features, and Regulus makes a face.

"That's _exactly_ when I decided I wanted to marry you," he tells her. "Must you know everything?"

She laughs, and after a moment, he laughs as well.

"Well, it might not be a surprise," he tells her, as he gets down on one knee, "but it's still heartfelt. Hermione, will you marry me?"

He is not looking directly at her. He rarely does – his postcognition is sensitive to eye contact, as is her freakishly powerful clairvoyance.

Hermione guides his face so his eyes meet hers, and his eyes widen. Hermione smiles, knowing that he is experiencing her recent past, that he is feeling all of her love for him and all her emotions. It is not as powerful as when she sees him, but it must be close, she thinks.

When Regulus regains himself and closes his eyes, he is breathing hard, and there are tears in his eyes. Hermione bends over and kisses them away.

"You asked me a question," she reminds him.

He smiles, then laughs. "I did."

"Yes," she tells him simply, and he pulls her to him and kisses her deeply, right there on the floor. Hermione kisses him back, shifting against him, and then Regulus is kissing her more fiercely, muttering something about how he hopes Sirius doesn't come home to find them having sex on the rug by the fire.

His statement doesn't make sense to Hermione. Who cares what will happen later? There is only now – the sweetness in Regulus' kisses, the reverence in his hands that stroke her back, the desire in his eyes as he looks at her breasts – and it is only now that matters.


End file.
